Admittance
by caalan
Summary: Sometimes it's easy to admit things. SEDDIE ponderings.


**Title:**Admittance

**Oneshot:**

**Author: **Caalan

**Genre: **Fluffy epiphany (again, but on a minor scale)

**Pairing: **Seddie

**Rating: **PG - So very Mrs. Benson-PG

**Summary: **Sometimes it's easy to admit things.

I am probably the only male freshman at Ridgeway that watches _Girly Cow_. Don't think I've not caught flack for this. There's not an upperclassman in gym class that hasn't let a quip fly or pulled a prank. Even Coach Wilson accidentally called me Bovine Benson. Still…today?…coloring my gym shorts with a hot pink sharpie to look like cow hide was a bit much.

It's not like I Tivo it or anything; it's just that I don't mind it really. Because the only time I watch it is when we are at Carly's running through _iCarly_ ideas or rehearsing and just need a break. I almost always use this time to ponder the technicalities of a particular web gimic, or how to organize and tag our videos, letting my brain drift as the mindless drivel that is _Girly Cow_ drones on. Usually, this time involves snacks, which always puts Sam in a better mood. And Sam in a better mood usually puts Carly in a better mood and you see where I'm going with this. Mostly we end up sprawled across the couch, sometimes one in a chair nearby, arms and legs splayed about with no worries as to personal boundaries.

Seriously, what guy wouldn't want to be fed, offered up hours of tube time sandwiched between two very pretty girls? Right, that's what I thought, and yes, I can include Sam in that equation, I'm not blind. Not that my hormones are rampantly overt, it's just that my brain doesn't make the decision whether to stay or go during _Girly Cow_ time.

It's just a given. Popcorn gets popped, fruit gets cubed, and in no particular order, other than Sam gets the remote, we schlump to the sofa. Carly usually ends up asleep quickly, sometimes on my shoulder, which pleases me and I feel very content.

Rarely, Sam will do the same thing. I must add the qualifier that Sam usually has to imbibe a massive amount of sugar and subsequently crash, but still…she does it, as she's doing tonight. I can't necessarily say this pleases me. It's different. I'm not content. I'm not discontent either; it's just that it's not a mind numbing contentment. Sam's head hits my shoulder and my whole body is on alert, a low level buzz of attentiveness that I just can't shake.

I'm aware…of her.

I instinctively calculate exactly how much body contact there is: Head on my shoulder, her shoulder and body very much in line with mine, considering the slope of our slouch, and her hand rests just slightly on my knee. I notice her deceptively dainty fingers and what I had mistaken for a slap-dash manicure now looks suspiciously like Sharpie smudges, hot pink Sharpie. While this does cause me to scowl a bit, I find that I am still counting how many fingers are on my skin. This perturbs me and I don't know whether to chalk it up to hormones, or my brain frantically trying to reassert itself.

I can smell the coconut verbena shampoo that she uses. Well, it's Carly's shampoo, and I know that smell anywhere, but I can tell the difference. Carly's hair has that fresh from the bottle scent, very refreshing. Sam's…it's infused…the coconut blending with the extreme musky heat of her, and the essence of whatever fruit she had eaten last, sucking the juice from her fingers and absentmindedly pushing the hair from her eyes. So yeah…very aware.

This attentiveness always leaves me frozen, fearful that the tiniest move will wake her. Not fearful of insult or retaliation, but because this is a quiet side of Sam and she's open and comfortable enough to allow me to see it and I won't disrespect that. So I sit there, alert…aware…breathing in Sam-infused shampoo, and amazed by her body heat, randomly wondering how many more calories she burns just by being Sam. Calorimetry, I think it is called, the science of measuring heat, capacity or units of use involved in chemical reactions or physical changes. I can't help but grin at the thought of using such a scholarly means to quantify the essence of Sam.

Even in her slumber, she subconsciously picks up on a favorite line from the show droning on, and huffs a tiny laugh of amusement. I crane forward, smirking slightly, just to see how alert she really is, but already her full mouth slackens and she sighs. I again pick up the scent of either kiwi or pineapple, watch her lips, and think how easy it would be to shift and dip and taste for myself. What would the calorimetric measurement be of that heated action? The light from the television, cool and flickering, keeps casting strobe-like highlights and shadows, magnifying and intensifying everything about her. Even in her stillness, she is so very, very Sam.

But I'm frozen, and aware, stuck in a fleeting but forever moment…most certainly not content…but this indescribable buzz…that's got to be a good thing, right? She speaks, again in her sleep, dreaming of the porcine sidekick from _Girly Cow_…"Heh…love that stupid pig."

So I slowly, forcibly relax, smiling at the mention of that stupid pig. The one that Sam has a picture of on her cell that flashes whenever I happen to call.

Yeah, I'll admit it. I watch _Girly Cow_. I might even like it a little bit.

**A/N: Let me know what you think! Reviews are the best inspiration to write! Forgive the sweetness, I just couldn't help it. I thought it was amusing in hindsight that such sweetness has to occur while Sam is unconscious. Hmmm.**


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